


CALL TO ME

by jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character, fluffy fluff fluff, lost small world parallels, such cuteness i might die in all this cotton candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle/pseuds/jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after returning to scepter 4, Saruhiko finds himself sick and refuses to let anyone take care of him but Yata.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CALL TO ME

**Author's Note:**

> im so weak for these two okay

“ _Misaki—_ ”

Yata’s feet seemed to move on their own, carrying him toward the muffled, needy moan. As they had several times already. He wasn’t surprised that Saruhiko had gotten sick, not considering he had been living in the underground tunnel with JUNGLE—some clan, he’d thought; couldn’t even afford a proper four walls and roof.

He had, however, been surprised when Kusanagi had handed him the phone with a smile. On the other end was the ever-reverent Blue King, though even Yata could hear the exasperation in his voice—and he could have sworn that was Seri yelling for Saruhiko to open his door in the background. Apparently the blue clansman had gotten sick, and refused to allow anyone to enter the room to take care of him.

So they had called Yata. He pretended to be inconvenienced, but really, he knew that even if they hadn’t asked him to come, he would have rushed over the moment he found out Saruhiko wasn’t being taken care of—even if it was of his own volition this time.

“You need something?” He peeked his head through the door, opening just enough to do so.

“Hungry.”

Hazel eyes moved from the lump-of-covers-with-a-head to the bedside table. The table which currently had water, soup, crackers, hot chocolate, rice porridge, and cinnamon toast on it. Food was not something Saruhiko was lacking—and he had to admit he had been a bit surprised by how well-stocked, and welcoming, Scepter 4 had been. Still, Yata had to stifle his smile.

“Jello?”

“Mn. Orange. Full sugar. No real fruit.” His voice was a muffled whine, a little hoarse and a little off-kilter from his sickness. Yata knew he’d be better off just eating and sleeping but also knew he refused to do any such thing. Each time he dropped off something new, Saruhiko barely let him get a few steps from his room before he called out to him again.

“I’ll be back in a minute, just yell if you need anything.” He shut the door behind him; click, step, step.

“Misaki.”

Yata smiled, immediately taking the two steps back to the threshold and opening the door.

“It’s too stuffy.” Saruhiko’s voice was still muffled, comforter pulled up around his nose.

“Gotcha.” Yata crossed the room, cracking the window. Cool, crisp air immediately filled the room. He couldn’t help but worry the chill would bother him—or make him worse—but a request from a sick-baby was a request from a sick-baby. He paused at Saruhiko’s side, fingers aching to reach out and touch him, stroke his hair, tuck him in tighter. “Better?” Nod. “I’ll be back with your jello.”

Again he left the room with a click.

Three, four, five…

“Misaki.”

Yata shook his head, hand still on the doorknob. He opened the door and poked his head inside.

“It’s too cold.”

Yata only sighed, tilting his head with a small smile and shift of his weight. “Really, Saruhiko?”

He had noticed the requests getting more and more asinine. More food, left untouched. More blankets. Less blankets. More blankets again. Opening and closing the window. Yata was pretty sure the only reason he had taken the medicine was because he had refused to budge until Saruhiko swallowed the pills down.

Yata shook his head softly, pulling off his beanie and ruffling his hair as he tossed it onto the side-table. Saruhiko only watched him, blue eyes following his movements behind his lenses. The brunet pulled the blanket back, expecting some sort of complaint about it being cold or that he had unsettled him.

There was none, and Yata knew he’d guessed right.

_Still can’t just be honest, can you?_

He crawled into the bed beside Saruhiko, pulling the blanket over their shoulders as he settled in beside him. “You’re gonna get me sick.” It wasn’t a real complaint, he knew, but he had to say something.

Yata hadn’t expected the face pressed to his chest, nuzzling against him and arms wrapped tight around his body.

“So, what? I’ll take care of you.”

The smaller male grinned, arm loosely draped over Saruhiko’s body, still racked with fever-chills. “You? Can you even make anything that doesn’t come from the convenience store?”

There was a silent pause.

“Shut up, I’d figure it out.” He buried his face more into Yata’s chest. “I’d take care of you.”

Yata sighed softly, a sigh more of content than contempt as his heart hitched inside his chest, and gently nosed into the mess of silky, black hair. “Ridiculous, monkey.” He muttered softly.

Saruhiko’s brows were furrowed deep when he looked up at him, his lips curved in the most petulant—and admittedly adorable—pout the brunet had ever seen on him. Yata could only smile, strong fingers gentle as they brushed dark hair from his face.

“Misaki.” It was soft, laced with a pout-induced whine. Then those pouting lips were pressed to Yata’s, soft and fever-warm against his, lingering just long enough to take the smaller male’s breath away.

Yata couldn’t say anything to that, and Saruhiko instead simply nuzzled against his chest again. His arms were tight around his body and slender fingers held fast to his shirt, entire body snuggling close against him. The brunet could only hold him gently, fingers carding through his hair, letting their legs tangle beneath the sheets.

“Your red is the warmest…” Saruhiko’s words warbled and slurred, mind muddled with sick-drunk and fever-haze. “It’s my favorite.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments sustain me, so do that thing maybe


End file.
